


Returning the Dead

by r2mich2



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Comment if you want to see more, Gen, Implied Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein, Older! Jean, Oneshot, really really short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r2mich2/pseuds/r2mich2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschstein, now a squad leader, is back from an expedition outside the walls and goes to return the corpse of one of his squad members to the dead's family when he finds a strikingly familiar face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Returning the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This was a drabble I wrote on tumblr and I thought I'd post it. If readers have any want for more of it, (chapters would be 5-7 pages long) then feel free to comment. :) I just wanted to put up my idea on how a rebirth/reincarnation au would go. Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> Warning, super short.

Jean had been riding back from another expedition outside the walls. His squad had taken some of the larger casualties but he’d managed to keep them all in generally good spirits through the trip back, even with the deaths of their fellow soldiers. 

Something about coming back from each mission reminded him of his first where they’d attempted to capture the female titan and nearly lost Eren in the process. He would always see some number of kids beaming at the Survey Corps as they returned and he’d always hear the disdain from the crowds they passed by. It never got any easier.

Returning the dead to their families was a nasty task and it always broke something inside you that could never be replaced or fixed. Jean had watched many friends die at the hands of titans and over time the faces all blended together. Squad members and subordinates all looked the same. 

But there was one person Jean always remembered clearly. He remembered exactly how that soldier looked in his final state, bloody and horrifying to look at. Jean never talked to anyone about Marco, not even his closest friends from the 104th. Yet, he figured those friends who’d known Marco as well had deduced that was who Jean always remembered when he was just a little too drunk for coherent thought. Jean tried not to remember too often.

He lead the small group that took one of their youngest squad member’s body back to his family. It was Jean’s responsibility, he knew that. 

He steeled himself and knocked on the door, readying himself for accusations and tears. But instead of a worried mother, or one perhaps that had falsely thought her son might come back alive, he found himself staring into the eyes of a teenager. 

It hit him like a kick in the gut. Black hair, cut in just the same way. Freckles in all the same patterns and the exact same complexion. Dark brown eyes that saw through you while also being welcoming and understanding. Everything was exactly the same and something inside Jean snapped.

The teenager was pushed aside by an elder woman who broke out into tears the moment she saw the faces of the men now handing over her dead son’s body. 

The woman cried and sobbed and begged for the mercy of her dead boy even though it was too late and all Jean could do was stare at her younger son like he was a ghost. To Jean, he was. 

It took the woman a long time to calm down and eventually Jean drew at least some of his attention to her. He apologized and took care of telling her some of the benefits their family would receive and he gave an explanation about how her son died. 

All the while, the freckled look alike stood silently with a look in his eyes that was solemn but not broken. It was sad, but not angry or desperate. He looked contemplative, yes, but he didn’t look outraged by his brother’s death.

Jean waited until the woman retreated into the home and two of his men carried the dead body of her son inside. The younger brother still stood there in the doorway. Cautiously, Jean said something. “Have you ever thought about enrolling?” He asked, hopeful.

The teen shrugged. “The Military Police maybe, so I can serve his majesty. Never the Survey Corps, though.” 

Jean nodded. Something inside of him was crumbling. “I would have done the same, had a friend not changed my mind.” 

At the same time, the two men that had helped with the body emerged from the house. “I hope you reconsider.” Jean stated and then he turned and left. It took every fiber of his being not to say something. It took all his heart not to cry.


End file.
